


You Ain't The Man I Know

by BlueButterflyDreamer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 1899 Timeline, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Switching Places, Time Travel, different realities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueButterflyDreamer/pseuds/BlueButterflyDreamer
Summary: Arthur Morgan switches places with his counterpart from another time. That time being 2020.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21
Collections: Morston Week 2020





	You Ain't The Man I Know

**Author's Note:**

> The point of view starts with an Arthur Morgan in 2020 who somehow is thrown into the year 1899.  
> His counterpart is thrown back to 1899.  
> John Marston, in both time lines deals with the fallout.

**AM-2020**

Rain poured down the windshield, in a steady torrent, wipers already at their highest setting, were barely able to keep up with the deluge.

Arthur’s knuckles, white with tension, gripped the steering wheel of his 51 Chevy pickup truck.

With a combination of his damp clothing; the warmth of his body, his exhaled breath and the outside temperature, steam had risen from him and the inside of the truck’s windshield was now coated with silvery gray water droplets.

Taking one hand from the steering wheel, he grabbed the green terry towel that lay on the bench seat and attempted to wipe the inner windshield in vain.

Arthur threw the towel to the caramel-coloured leather seat and returned his hand to the wheel muttering under his breath.

He was on his way to Valentine to pick up the heater for the truck and now he was paying for his idiocy.

A crack of thunder, followed by a brilliant flash of lightening filling the cab of the truck blinded him temporarily.

The road ahead, awash with an inundation of water, running from the already swollen river further up the mountain ridge, was potted deeply, sections crumbling and giving way, sliding down a steep embankment to the gulley below.

It was at this precise moment, of temporary blindness, that Arthur’s truck’s front wheel caught one of the potholes and she jumped, sending the vehicle off balance and further over into the badly softened shoulder, where it immediately started to go through last remnants of what once had been a guard rail.

Arthur struggled to gain control, but she failed to respond to his demands, and curses.

“Goddamnit!”

From where Arthur sat behind the wheel, he caught a glimpse of the sky; dark black clouds, bolts of lightning, extending out for what seemed miles upon miles, as the truck left the shoulder and launched itself into the sky.

There was something different about the bolts of lightning, that had filled the sky at that particular moment, they had a luminescent glow about them, ‘ _no wait a second_ , Arthur thought, _it’s not that, it looks as if there’s something else in the lightning_.’

Could it be what was causing the luminescent glow, some foreign object?

To Arthur, it looked as if someone had suddenly thrown open a door into an extremely bright white room and he, had been standing in a pitch-black hallway. A yawning, gaping doorway to where?

All these revelations happened in a matter of a few microseconds.

Time had seemed to slow down for Arthur.

He was aware of feeling a tingling sensation running through his lower extremities.

Gradually, a warmth replaced that, then a feeling of emptiness, as if he were floating on a cloud, or maybe in the air, or in a void, a void devoid of everything.

The truck, now heading towards the bottom of the gulley, had picked up speed and was bouncing over boulders, fallen trees, tree stumps, rocks that punctured the gas tank leaving a stream of fuel to follow his descent.

Striking a large boulder, the truck flipped and rolled down the rocky embankment coming to rest on its roof, one rear tire bounding away, bouncing over rocks and landing in a deep pool of murky water.

Arthur, in the truck’s most ungraceful landing on its roof, amidst a shallow puddle of water, had struck his head against the driver’s side window, producing a series of beautiful spidery cobweb cracks to appear.

This also resulted in Arthur knocking himself unconscious.

The fuel, from the damaged gas tank, continued to pour forth, covering the shallow water in the gulley, forming an iridescent glow upon the surface.

A wonky front tire wobbled on its axis then slowed to a stop.

The drivers side mirror, hanging barely by a loose screw, swung in a pendulum motion, then overcome by gravity, it dropped, bouncing off a small stone and causing a spark igniting the pool of fuel it fell into.

**Kaboom! Whoosh!**

The encompassing fireball engulfed the truck, and its unconscious passenger in a fiery explosion hurtling parts of said truck over a large expanse of the gulley’s floor.

Shards of glass, bits of metal, clumps of stuffing from the bench seat, charred pieces of maps and an assortment of papers, once stored in the glove compartment, floated as if bits of confetti on a gust of wind, all mixing with the rain that continued fall.

Arthur’s body, was thrown clear several hundred feet away, coming to rest sitting upright, leaning against a smooth greyish-pink stone, head lolling down on his chest, nary a mark except for a lone red splotch of blood at his temple from the impact against the window.

From far back, one might have thought he had just sat to take rest against the stone, perhaps weary from a long hike or a day’s work.

The rain continued to fall, long white streaks, the lightning continued to fork across the black sky, while the luminescent glow, that had puzzled Arthur, lowered until it encompassed his body and he was completely swallowed up, leaving no trace, that he had ever been there.

**JM-1899**

John Marston climbed down from the back of Old Boy and patted his neck as he took the reins and threw them over a low-lying branch outside of the cabin, he had been holed up in for the past three days.

Arthur had gone into town to scope the lay of the land before the robbery.

John threw off his hat and coat and sank into the chair by the fire, kicking his heels up on the opposing chair as he dragged one hand through his long, tangled hair.

‘ _Think I need a hair cut soon,’_ he thought to himself, an amused smile appearing on his face, _‘not that Arthur seems to mind.’_

Arthur Morgan and John Marston, had been together, as a couple, going on for about four-and-a-half months now.

Their all-encompassing relationship, that had started off just as members of the Van der Linde gang.

It had moved from friends, over to enemies, back to partners-in-crime, and several times more going around and around.

It had finally given way to the realization that _there was_ and _had been,_ for some time there, brewing between them, underneath the chide remarks, the unspoken words, the meaningful light touches, the long stares, a mutual feeling that had soon left them both breathless in the depth of their feelings for one another.

It had knocked John on his ass, so to speak, the first time Arthur had kissed him.

He had imagined it, for some time, before it had ever happened.

And, it had only come about when John, being in one of his difficult moods, had found Arthur’s journal laying about in Arthur’s tent.

Arthur had nearly gone through the roof when he had stepped under one of the flaps and had found John, sitting on his cot, paging through his journal, eyes wide, mouth open and a rising bulge in his pants.

John had tried to explain, but Arthur would not hear any reasoning for the invasion into his privacy.

With both men displaying red faces, and very strained low voices, so no one else in camp would hear, Arthur had demanded in such terms that John hand over the journal and remove himself from Arthur’s tent.

John complied as quickly as he could and left to run out of camp, and hide, as far away as possible so not to be discovered and take care of the necessary urgency felt within his lower region whilst he thought of Arthur’s journal and the man himself.

The next thing John had wondered was, how had it been that Arthur had known such intimate detail of his body?

Had Arthur been following him, observing him, spying on him?

The idea of it had brought a smile to John’s face as he thought of the numerous times, he had excused himself from camp to take care of business such as he just had.

After his discovery and return to camp, still flushed and still aching, he’d found that things had changed once again between himself and Arthur.

There was no talking, or working together, no matter how much Hosea, Dutch or even threat of Miss Grimshaw, was thrust upon them.  
They avoided each other and in doing so caused speculation in the camp.

John could never forget what he had seen in the journal; sketch upon sketch of himself, caught in various actions around the camp, riding his horse, napping under a tree, various stages of dress, and finally on the last page, before Arthur had caught him, a clear as day sketch of John without a stitch of clothing.

The perfection of each sketch was what had blown John’s mind, the exact detail of every scar, every crease, every muscle, every, well, that had certainly drawn his eye.  
But it was not only that but the loving words written on the opposite page; _My John, I may only touch your skin with my pencil to page, but to touch you as that will surely be enough._

John had been filled with such raw and unbridled emotion, such want and desire for Arthur to touch him that he had lost himself completely within those words.

For how long, unbeknownst to John, had Arthur been fighting a battle.

Every touch, every word spoken between the two of them had filled him with such adoration, respect, longing and desire for the man ten years his senior even before he had discovered that yes, he loved Arthur Morgan with every fibre of his being.

It had taken some time before the fire that had burned any chance of John having Arthur touch him in any way cooled, but with some perseverance on John’s behalf, and some small nudges from Hosea who had taken a keen interest in his plight, Arthur had slowly, mind you _slowly_ , come around.

He had seen fit to take John on a hunting trip which, resulted in a longer absence from camp than expected, bringing a worried Javier to find them and discover their reason for being absent for as long as they were.

Javier, exceptionally embarrassed and exceedingly apologetic, who thought they were ill or injured from the sounds emanating from their tent, had left them to, ‘ _what was it he had said when he found the two buck-naked, sweaty and energetically exploring each other?’_ mused John, _something about a couple of bucks proving their_ …John could not be sure, but it had brought a fit of laughter to the two men after he had gone.

Now, now it was different and both men had fully accepted and recognized their inner feelings for one another and it had been, John chuckled to himself as he sipped on his coffee, everything he could or even Arthur could have imagined.

Thinking of Arthur, John stood, perplexed at what was taking him so long to return. It never had taken Arthur this long to check out the details on a job.

The tip they had received had come from a reliable source, Josiah Trelawny, who had assured them that the bank job would be worth a great deal more than they had scored in Blackwater at the bank.

Valentine would be the last stop on the route by way of coach. A coach that would be a ‘safe-on-wheels’ specifically built for such trip.  
It would, according to Josiah, contain a large sum of bank money, payroll, gold coin, from the surrounding stores, small merchants and banks, including one in Saint Denis, bound for Blackwater.

John and Arthur had come a few days early to enjoy some time alone before the others joined them.

John went to the door and opened it looking out into the dimming light. He did not like this one bit, something was wrong and he intended to find out what it was.

Checking his revolver and ammunition, he grabbed Old Boy’s reins and swiftly mounted up.

Taking the path that lead to the rear of the small town, he saw no signs of Arthur.

As he approached the outskirts of Valentine, he noticed that the town was unusually quiet. He had been here on several occasions, frequenting the general store, or the saloon, but it had never been this quiet before. It was almost as if it had turned into a ghost town.

A few lights shone in the windows of the back rooms of the saloon as he passed, and the sound of laughter drifted to his ears.

Overhead, flashes of lightning lit his path as Old Boy picked his way along the back of the buildings.

A drunk lay in a puddle of piss and vomit moaning about the woman he had lost.

There was life to the town, but still it was as if the air was charged with some spark and everyone had run from it.

John leaned forward in his saddle, his ears straining for any sounds of life as he moved alongside the rear of the general store.

Where the hell was Morgan?

A wind, that had picked up gently before leaving the cabin, gusted now through the open alleys, knocking his hat off his head and to the ground at Old Boy’s front hooves, spooking the horse to step sideways away from it.

The hat rolled over into the light from one of the lanterns along the front of the stable.

John pulled gently on the reins, bringing Old Boy under his control, and dismounted to retrieve his hat.

The wind gusted again, sending overhead signs flapping and the blacksmith’s sign dislodged and whipped past him.

As he stood on the ground, he was struck with the feeling that something was about to occur and he was not wrong in thinking it.

A brilliant flash of light, the likes he had never witnessed in his twenty-six years, caused him to throw one arm up to shield his eyes.

The hairs on his wrists, stood at attention, not to mention the ones at the back of his neck that had decided to join them.

John felt a cold finger touch the bottom of his spine.

John was not sure what the hell had just happened, but what ever it was he pulled his revolver and crouched down low waiting to see what would happen next.

Behind the blacksmith’s work area, along side the stables, a strange glowing light, floated about five feet from the ground and slowly dipped down to touch the grass, the shape of a door appeared and as John worked his way around to see what it was, he swore he could smell smoke and feel the heat from an intense fire coming from its direction.

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed across the sky, leaving an imprint on the back of his eyeballs, blinding him temporarily.

“For Christs sakes!”

He shouted out again as rain, colder than he had ever felt, began to pour from the sky.

John was shoved back by an invisible force and driven behind a wooden four-by-four post.

He tried in vain to see what it was that appeared on the ground, but the force, held to him fast.

Barrels rolled, a small stool lifted to the air and smashed against the forge, loose tools flew around him narrowly missing him, a bucket filled with horseshoes toppled over, spilling around John’s feet.

When finally, he could move, he surged forward quickly, all sense of reasoning lost to him.

There, on the ground, where the brightly lit doorway had stood, was Arthur, naked as the day he was born, sporting a lone red splotch of blood at his temple.

John grasped hold of Arthur and dragged him towards Old Boy. He spied a blanket below a saddle that had fallen to the ground from a sawhorse and went to retrieve it.

Slipping it around Arthur, he pulled him up and secured it as best as he could.

Struggling with Arthur’s weight, he managed to get hm up onto Old Boy then pulled himself up behind his inert form.

Digging his spurs into Old Boy he urged him to the trail that lead back to the cabin they had been in.

**AM- 1899 (in 2020)**

Arthur opened one eye trying to ascertain why his head was pounding as if some bear was dancing in or on it.

He raised one hand to wipe at something at the side of his head and his hand came away with something warm and sticky on it, blood.

Eyes snapping open further he looked around.

He had been on his way to Valentine to get a feel for the bank job-a very lucrative bank job-Josiah Trelawny had informed them about.

He found himself to be in a gulley.

He was laying, ‘ _no I’m sitting upright, ya fool,’_ leaning against a smooth greyish-pink stone, stark naked.

Confusion, fear, worry, doubt and disbelief washed over Arthur all at the same time.

“What the hell happened to me?” He asked himself out loud just so he could hear if it was his own voice he heard.

Satisfied that it was him, he tried to move.

Arthur tried to stand and found the world tilting away from him. It felt as if he were trying to break a new horse in.

Once he managed to get to his feet, he noticed something strange, it looked to be some sort of hulking metal object, almost like a piece of train maybe. As he studied longer, it looked unfamiliar to anything he had ever seen.

He disregarded with no intention of puzzling over what it might have been or could be.

Arthur moved around the strange object and wondered what had happened, where was Angharad?

Arthur felt the urgent need to urinate and he moved over behind a boulder and relieved himself.

A chill swept across his forearms raising the hairs on his arms as he concluded his business and he shivered.

It was getting damn cold with no clothes on, kinda uncomfortable too.

Arthur studied the gulley and wondered where it would lead to should he follow it.

He decided to turn north and began to walk slowly, avoiding the bits of glass and metal that peppered the area where he awoken.

He decided it must be a dream and eventually, he would awake to find himself laying beside John, in the cabin they had taken over.

If it was just a dream, perhaps it was caused by that last bit of beef he had eaten.

As he walked, he noted the sky; the stars seemed different, the smell of the air was too, it reminded him of the stale musty odor akin to walking into an old cellar.

Arthur walked on, for some time, until he came to a grassy area that gently sloped up to what appeared to be the back of a building similar to the back of Amos Levi and Sons Blacksmith and Farrier in Valentine. As he drew nearer, he ascertained that it looked different.

He scrambled to the back of the building and hunched down, his nakedness was his concern at the moment, hearing loud voices.  
He didn’t want to scare anyone that might be stabling his horse even at the apparent hour it was, so he waited a few moments until the voices drifted off.

Now, his second concern grew as he studied the building, he was not sure what it was that was different.

As Arthur moved around to the side of the building, the sounds from within were not all that clenched what the difference was.

At the front of the building, from his vantage point, he could see another one of those strange metal objects he had seen in the gulley, only this one sat different, it looked to be balanced on what looked like four wagon wheels and had glass in what appeared to be doors?

Arthur shook his head; this dream was growing stranger by the hour.

The sounds coming from the stable sounded as if someone were, _grinding metal_ , was the only thing he could come up, similar to that of the trains when they bore down on the brakes when approaching the stations.

As he moved, still in a crouched position, slinking from barrel to barrel, post to post, he thought he saw something familiar, no, someone familiar coming out of the building.

He paused for a moment wondering what the hell he was doing here and stepped out from where he was and opened his mouth to bellow at John.

**JM-2020/AM-1899 (in 2020)**

John turned at the sound of his name and looked wide-eyed at the naked man approaching him. At first John was unsure of what he was seeing, then as the man grew closer, he recognized him.

“Mister Morgan? Arthur. That you, sir?”

“What do you mean, _Mister Morgan_ , _sir_. Jeesh, of course you can see it’s me ya damn fool, what is your problem, John? I ain’t in the mood to play no goddamn games, now help me cover myself up afore someone comes ‘long and sees me.”

John stared at this man in front of him and wondered if he perhaps had been drinking.

He stepped closer and sniffed just to be sure.

“Whatcha sniffin’ me for?” Arthur asked getting riled.

“I’m sorry, Mister Morgan, I guess I thought maybe you had tied one on and was messing with me.”

“Do I look like I’m messing with you? Don’t know nothing bout tying one on, whatever that means.”

John thought the man, Mister Morgan, seemed disturbed, perhaps he had been in an accident.

John looked him over carefully and noticed the blood at his temple when he turned his head to look over at where John’s truck stood.

“What ya lookin’ for?” Arthur sighed, frustrated by John’s apparent lack of understanding, but knew it was just like him to be irritatingly difficult in some circumstances, or just plain dumb.

John stepped closer, raising a hand to the wound on the side of his face.

“You’re bleeding, I think I should go call an ambulance. Where did you run your truck off the road?”

Arthur stood, his face blank, his truck? Last he recalled was that some bright fork of lightning had spooked his horse, Angharad, and she had spilt him before bolting into the night leaving him.

Next, he recalled waking up sitting up by that rock and that…an expression of understanding crossed his face.

“Oh, that explains that.”

“Huh?” John replied with still some measure of unease regarding the sanity of the man in front of him.

“Back a ways, down in the gulley, I thinks, real mess too.”

“And you walked here, naked?” John asked hesitantly.

Arthur nodded. “Came to lookin like this, not sure where my clothes went to. Look, John, I’m tired and cold, and I want to go back to the cabin, have a drink, and lay down. Let’s forget about this bank job for now and head on back,” he stepped closer bringing a hand up and laying it on John’s chest, “and maybe you can, um, warm me up some.”

John took two steps back and squinted his eyes at Mister Morgan.

“Sir, I really think you need to lie down.”

Arthur broke out into a wide beaming smile. “ _Now_ we’re talking.”

**JM-1899/AM-2020 (in 1899)**

John laid Arthur carefully onto the narrow bed and threw a blanket over his body. The only wound he could find was the one at his temple.

John to be doubly sure ran his hands over Arthur’s limbs, looking for any swelling.

John felt Arthur’s hands, ice cold, and his lips had a bluish tint to them.

Arthur did not look too good.

John moved to the pot-bellied stove, opening the top and dropping some wood into the flames.

He wanted to make sure it was warm in the cabin, even though it already was.

On the ride back, Arthur had mumbled something about a bright light that had filled the night sky blinding him. He had also said about the truck flying.

Arthur had not said much more, other than that.

John had puzzled over what he had meant by, _the truck flying_ , and put it down to the nasty bump on the side of his head.

When Arthur came to, he would no doubt be grouchy.

John went out to the water barrel and filled the coffee pot. It was going to be a long night.

A few hours later, Arthur came to.

He rose from the bed to a sitting position and looked around the small cabin.

He glanced at John, nodded his head and made to swing his legs out over the edge of the bed.

“I wouldn’t do that. Not yet, give it a sec.”

Arthur stopped and stared at John who turned to fill a cup with water.

“What’s the matter with your voice, John, you sound funny.”

John turned around to face Arthur and squinted.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“See, right there, you’re talking funny for a college boy.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Look, Arthur, I’m tired too. Just tell me, what the _hell_ happened to ya. What happened in Valentine?”

Arthur accepted the cup of water and took a mouthful. He contemplated it, then took another swig.

“This is pretty good, tastes like, like the water you get up at the Pearson Outfitters Store and Grocery, near the head of the mountain hiking trail. No chlorine taste.”

John stood, the chair clattering behind him on the floor, his hand almost going to the butt of his revolver.

“Okay, mister, I mightn’t be so smart, but I knows when something is wrong. Now you’re gonna tell me who the hell are ya and where’s, Arthur Morgan?”

**AM-1899**

Arthur Morgan liked to sketch; he had done so for as long as he could recall.

His journal was filled with sketches of the things he saw along the trails he adventured upon, places the gang had been, of people he had found to be interesting, or sometimes not that interesting at all.  
He also wrote about these things with his journal, keeping track of where he had been, and it had helped him sort things out.

It had helped him sort out how he had felt about John Marston, the long-legged gangly hellion that Dutch had saved and brought into their family.

The kid, barely old enough to look after himself had reminded Arthur of some bedraggled animal in need of desperate care. But that care would cost a few of Arthur’s possessions, and it also came with a few scars along the way.

John bit, kicked and fussed worse than anything when it came to bath time, so Arthur had to physically carry him to the bath and practically sit on him to get him washed.

One of the scars Arthur carried on his arm was from John’s teeth, which he promptly tried to use on Arthur again when he saw the blood and the way it had made Arthur jump back.

Arthur, being older, heavier, and somewhat wiser, took no guff from John and up-ended him down in the lake.

At that moment, he had not known that John could not swim and it wasn’t until he had gone under and not appeared, that Arthur became worried.

Luckily, for both their behalves, John was fine, but Arthur could not sit down for a day.

Dutch had kicked him in the ass for his fine behaviour.

John, had been Dutch’s golden boy and he used it to his advantage whenever possible.

Years later they had laughed about it, but John could still not swim.

Arthur pulled out his journal and opened it to a sketch of John, sitting, his hands whittling a piece of wood, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, mind no doubt filled with some idea about getting into trouble.

It was one of Arthur’s favourites.

Flipping to a fresh page, he began to sketch, lines light at first, then filling in what he wanted to show.

He hunched over the page for some time, the light outside growing dim as he worked, the air filled with the sound of a distant storm approaching.

Finally finished, Arthur laid the pencil aside and looked at the image he had drawn.

It was of a door way partially open, the view point from a room looking out into a hallway, and in the hall was John, but only there were two.

**JM-2020**

John Marston, twenty-six years old, could aptly say he never had had a real relationship with anyone.

Sure, there had been a very take-up with the waitress at the Overlook, but she, Abigail, had been too snarly and bossy for his liking.

She was looking for commitment; a daddy for her boy and John had been way too young not into that.

Then came Javier, Javier Escuella.

Smooth, dark and ever so sexy, a fiery man that played guitar at the Overlook on Friday nights on open-mike night with his friends, but he and Javier had parted only after a brief torrid affair that had lasted only a few months once Javier had moved on.

Hosea Matthews, John’s guardian and the man that had adopted him, had told him not to worry, that when the time came, love would find him.

He sucked on his beer and watched the man at the other end of the couch, fiddling with the TV remote as if it was some beast going to bite him.

Now, there, there was a man he could fall for and had, well the one from his time anyways.

Arthur Morgan walked into his life and had turned his world upside down though he wouldn’t admit it to himself or anyone else for that matter.

Arthur Morgan, tall, built solid, muscular arms, a fabulous looking ass, sandy blonde hair and the bluest eyes John ever had the fortune to look in.

When he had first walked into the shop looking for parts for his 51 Chevy, John had been stripping down a carburetor.

He had not paid much heed to the man who was looking around at the parts hanging on the wall across from John.

Bill Williamson was in the shop today working and he had ambled over to talk to the man and see if he could assist.

Once Arthur had found what he needed, placing an order for a new front seat for his truck, he had casually asked if Bill owned the shop.

Bill half chuckled and replied no, shaking his head, he didn’t and then thumbed a thumb over his shoulder at John and said he did.

Arthur politely thanked Bill and strode over to John who had gotten to his feet, wiped his hands on a rag and met Arthur halfway.

When Arthur had offered his hand, John had taken it and John had felt what he thought was a bolt of static electricity.

Arthur had smiled and the way he had looked at John, John had felt it all the way to his gut.

Valentine was a small town, mostly families, a good school, a couple of parks, a library, a historical museum, two grocers, a couple of restaurants, a few shops, a drive-in movie theatre that still operated every weekend and was busy during the summer from the out-of-towners who came.  
There was a campground down near a gorge behind the town, where you could camp and swim in a small lagoon and barbeque.

And of course, there was John’s shop. A jack of all trades, vehicle and machinery repair shop housed in what was once upon a time long ago a blacksmith farriers’ shop somewhere around the early nineteen hundreds or earlier.

Valentine was small enough that one could get to know their neighbours and John started to get to know his.

They had met, again, once at the Overlook, sat and talked over a beer and then seen each other at Dutch’s, a new restaurant that served the best damn sandwiches with mango smoothies come this side of anywhere.

At first, they hadn’t really dated seriously, not yet anyways, but John thought they might be heading that way, or at least he hoped.

He had spent plenty of nights in his apartment over the garage, thinking illicit thoughts of what he wanted to do with and to Arthur Morgan if given the chance and taking care of some _private_ _business_ so to speak.

It was the week when Arthur had showed up looking for a new heater for his truck that he and John really got to talking.

John could hear it in his voice that he was lonely. John figured he would know, he felt the same way.

John and him had finally come around to talking about relationships and Arthur had inquired if John had anyone special in his life.

John answered honestly that it had been some time.

Arthur agreed that it had been some time for him also.

They had stood, staring at each other.

Arthur had been the first one to ask John if he might be interested in a real date.

John had answered yes.

The big date had yet not happened, but there was lots of talking, and running into each other and that was fine, for both men for the time being. It seemed to have added something to their slow blooming relationship.

John had sent a text to Arthur telling him his heater was in and to come and get it.

Arthur had replied he would have to put it off until the next week because he had a big client coming in to check his breeding stock.

“ _No problem, it’ll be here when you can get it_.” Had been John’s reply to the text. Verbally he had added out loud, “But I wish I could see you.”

**JM-1899/AM 2020 (in 1899)**

John was not sure what to make of the man who looked like his Arthur, but it was uncanny the physical similarities, but speaking like his Arthur was out of the question.

Sure this Arthur sounded the same, but he spoke in a completely different manner, with different mannerisms, emphasis's on words, and the topics he went on about left John's head in a whirl.

Sure, John understood some of the things he spoke about, but most, they were way over his head.

He had taken this Arthur and showed him around, spoke to him of his life, and Arthur's, then rode with him to Valentine.

Arthur had taken it in all in good stride when he saw the town but the look of disbelief on his face said differently though.

They returned to the cabin and John told him he wanted to show him something of his Arthur’s.

He went to Arthur’s night stand and rummaged around until he found what he was searching for.

Moving back over to the _not his Arthur_ , he handed him the brown leather-bound journal.

“Here, look at this.”

It was one of Arthur’s earlier journals, but it still contained snippets of their early relationship as it had been before his Arthur had replaced it.

The other Arthur flipped through the pages, studying the sketches, reading the pages, nodding his head, stopping every so often to look at John and smile.

John felt funny. His stomach dropping further and further into his boots. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea.

The journal was closed and the other Arthur laid it down.

"Seems to me, you and your Arthur are very lucky, John, very lucky."

John smiled feeling better at having shared his Arthur with this Arthur.

"Do you think we'll find out what happened to him?" John asked, worry surrounding his question.

“I think I know what happened, or at least I think I do.”

John nodded his head, waiting to hear what he thought.

“I know I am not _your_ Arthur. I mean I am an Arthur, but not your Arthur. I mean I _can_ see I am in a different time, and you are not _the_ John Marston I met in Valentine and that I…” his voice trailed off then resumed again.

"There was a storm, heavy rains, wind where I came from, I was driving to Valentine to pick up a part for my truck and the next thing I know there was a big flash of lightning and I was here."

John nodded his head. Yeah there had been a storm the night that Arthur had disappeared too. and this one appeared.

“Arthur, ya said that ya and stopped. What were ya going to say?”

Arthur half-smiled.

“That I was falling for. The John Marston that I was falling for.”

“Oh,” John thought that over for a brief second, “even in your time, with me?”

“Well, not yet in that sense of how your relationship is with your Arthur, but we really like each other and are not against getting to know each other like you and your Arthur.”

John was still for a few minutes then he let out a whoop.

“Even then.”

Arthur smiled. “Yeah.”

**AM-1899 (in 2020)**

Arthur stood staring at his reflection in the mirror, clear as anything.

There were no imperfections in the glass, no cloudiness that he was used to seeing when trying in a new shirt, or changing his clothes in a room in a hotel in Rhodes or Strawberry.

This was some kind of strange, but yet, he was not overly bothered by it.

What he was bothered with was he was not with John. _His John._

The John he was staying with was kind, and looked the same, but he talked differently.

He was well read, well educated, not just in the ways of the world, but in many other ways that left Arthur kinda speechless.

They had figured it out, the pair of them, it must have been the severe storm that had brought him here and he wanted to go back, but they had no idea of how to do that.

Arthur had gone to sleep on the leather couch in John’s apartment, clutching a journal that John had given to him.

It was not the journal he had carried with him, but a brand new one to write down ideas and maybe do some sketching to pass the time and maybe, maybe ease some of the ache.

It had not helped.

Arthur lay awake wondering what John might have been doing at that moment.

He wondered if it were possible that he was desperately searching all of Valentine for him, calling his name, arguing with anyone who got in his way.

“Oh John, I miss you.”

Arthur forced his eyes closed and rolled over to face the back of the couch.

Off in the distance a rumble rolled across the gulley where he had walked out of, a luminescent glow rising from where he had awoken.

Arthur drifted off to sleep ignorant of what was happening and dreamed of John.

**AM 2020 (1899)**

Arthur shifted around to watch the moving pictures on the, ‘ _what did he call it again?’_

_TV yeah that was what he called it._

Arthur watched the people moving across the screen not so different from the ones that moved across the screens in the tents that he had paid a dollar to see.

There was speaking coming from the TV, but nothing Arthur saw gave rise to any interest.

He pressed the button to shut it off, proud of the fact he remembered and set the small black object on the table in front of the chair.

He wandered to the window and stared out at the night, watching the cars pass by.

It was a strange world he had found himself in, full of wonders and great sights, but it was not his world and this world held no place for him.

He sorely missed John, more than he thought that his heart could bear.

The door behind him opened and the new John walked in carrying four large white boxes and a case of bottles that looked an awful like beer.

“What ya got there Johnny?”

“Dinner for two, Art.”

They had taken to calling each other those names to lessen the aches.

“There’s a storm brewing on the horizon, lady on the radio says it looks like it might shape up into a doozy.”

Arthur smiled. “Let’s eat, I’m starving. I think I might like this, what’dya call it again?”

“Pizza, Art, it’s called pepperoni pizza.”

The storm that blew in knocked the power out, killing the movie they were watching, Hang ‘Em High.

Arthur had been enjoying it, making all kinds of comments regarding the protagonist, Jed Cooper, played by some man called Clint Eastwood.

He had also enjoyed the pizza and the beer.

They sat together on the twin chairs by the window, side by side like two old friends, watching the flashes of lightning fork across the sky.

Thunder rolled and pealed off the walls. At one point it had shaken the building with its intensity.

There was another crack of thunder, followed by a brilliant flash of lightening filling the apartment with white light.

Arthur grew restless.

The hair on his arms stood straight up, his neck broke out into a sweat, and his chest felt as if he was being squeezed by a bear.

“Johnny, I, I don’t feel so well.”

John turned to stare at Arthur and opened his mouth to speak.

“Holy shit.”

He pointed behind Arthur.

Behind Arthur, a luminescent glow had appeared.

Arthur turned and instantly recognized it. It was the same one from when he had been thrown from his horse Angharad.

He watched paralyzed with fear as it moved towards him.

There was another brilliant flash of light filling the room.

John had thrown his arm up to cover his eyes and when he dropped it, Arthur was gone.

**AM-1899 (2020)**

Arthur stood, a cup of coffee in his hands, watching the storm.

Trees bent to kiss the ground, leaves blew on the gusts of wind, collecting against the windows and near the door and the sound of thunder grew louder.

Lightning branched across the sky leaving the familiar sweet pungent odour of ozone in the air.

Arthur sipped the coffee, a good tasting brew, not like that of the time he came from but still just as good or if not better.

John had fallen asleep on the narrow bed, but it had taken him some time.

Arthur felt for the man, not fully understanding how the man felt, but he did know what longing and pining for someone was like.

He had to admit to himself that was what he had felt for his John.

A physical relationship had not happened yet, they were far from that, he thought, but when it got to that point, he knew they would be compatible and would both savour it.

Arthur turned to go into the cabin, but something drew his attention.

A luminescent glow amidst the trees.

Laying the cup down on the stump by the door, he stood transfixed for a moment then stepped out and towards the woods.

**JM 1899**

John awoke when he heard the loud crash. He was jolted awake thinking a tree had fallen on the cabin.

“Arthur? Ya alright?”

Silence.

“Arthur?”

John did not call out again, he had a feeling, that Arthur was gone.

**JM 2020**

Sunlight streamed through the windows of John’s apartment. He lay in bed, dozing in and out of sleep.

He had experienced something that he would never speak about to another living soul.

A time traveller, a duplicate of a man he had feelings for.

A man that was gone.

John threw one arm over his face and groaned as the alarm clock on the night table beside his bed rang.

“Shit.”

He punched it, silencing its auditory announcement.

“John!”

John’s head lifted at the shout.

Someone was banging on his apartment door.

It sounded as if they were going to break it down.

“Alright, alright! Give me a damn minute to my pants on for fuck’s sake!”

John stood slipping into his jeans, and running a hand through his tousled hair.

He moved to the living room and to the door as it blew in on its hinges.

“What the fu…”

The rest of the word died on his lips when he saw who it was.

“Arthur?”

Arthur cleared the distance between in one giant step and grabbed John by the arms dragging him to his chest.

He hugged him tight, then released him, a hand going to his chin and tilting it up.

His mouth fell upon John’s and he kissed him like he had never kissed another soul ever.

Long, deep, tongue teasing and touching, teeth grabbing lip, sucking and needing. Arms wrapping around each other, wandering, squeezing, palming, tugging at clothes.

John could feel the urgency of the kiss and he went willingly with it.

Finally, when they broke apart, John stared at Arthur.

They were not sure what to say, but there was something instinctual about the whole scene.

They went to the couch and sat together for a while, quietly at first then talking about the experience, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, hands holding each’s hand tightly.

They talked a long time, then went to the bed, and there, finally they consummated their feelings about each other.

In the distance, the storm from the previous evening had dissipated along with any signs of a luminescent glow.

**JM 1899**

John poured himself another cup of coffee, sipping at the hot liquid, careful not to burn his throat.

He flipped through the journal, studying the pages, tracing the outlines of the sketches.

He sorely wished there had been a sketch of Arthur somewhere among the pages, but there was none.

Arthur, he wondered about the man he had shared the details of his Arthur’s life with. Wondered if he had made it back to his John and if they would be together. He hoped so.

He wondered if he would ever see his Arthur. Ever hold the man he loved in his arms, run his hands through his hair, kiss him again.

John sighed, dropping his boot heels to the floor of the cabin, setting the cup down on the table by the window.

He had not yet left, something had told him not to go, not just yet.

He sighed then picked up the coffee cup once again and as he brought the coffee cup to his lips he stopped.

Crossing the path to the cabin was a familiar horse.

Too familiar to be a coincidence.

Angharad.

On her back was Arthur.

John ran to the door and pulled it open in disbelief at the sight of Arthur.

Arthur was trying to dismount, but John was there, tugging at him, pulling him down.

They fell to the ground and Arthur laughed.

“Easy, whoa there boah, ya’ll scare, Angharad. I had to search high and low to find her to get back here.”

“I don’t care, Arthur, shut up and let me kiss you.”

Arthur let John kiss him, and more. They took their time, getting used to one another again, even though the whole incident had only lasted two days. 

John kissed Arthur, sighing with sheer contentment as they held each other naked on the bed.

“What the hell do ya think happened?”

Arthur shook his head as he ran his fingers through John’s hair.

“It was the storm, John and I agreed it must have been the storm. It must have stormed here and there.”

John looked perplexed for a moment.

“We did?”

Arthur laughed. “The other John.”

John nodded, “Hey, what was it like?”

Arthur smiled. “Somewhat not that much different. A different Valentine, a different time, with a different John. But he was not you at all.”

John nodded, both understanding and not understanding.

“There was another of ya here, with me, but he left. Think he’s back with me where he came from?”

Arthur chewed on it for a second and smiled.

“If he’s not, John, he’s a damn fool. Now how about we reacquaint ourselves some more?”

“Fine by me Arthur, fine by me.”


End file.
